Interrupted breakfasts
by roodwook
Summary: Crack's not dead yet. In which Harry is bothered by owls sent by a mysterious suitor bringing gifts and half-insulting notes and interrupting his breakfasts.
1. Chapter 1

Everything was perfectly ordinary the first term back.

Until the first owl came. And landed, with an undignified plop, onto Harry's cereal.

Really, the whole owl system was very badly thought out. It was breakfast, and everybody knew nobody was safe. No bacon sandwich or pancake was guaranteed to be eaten; not when an owl of varying colour, size and breed would swoop in and land on your head or your food. Some people sent owls just to annoy their friends – because really, the abrupt disappointment of knowing you will never finish your food just because some massive owl had landed in it for no reason was the peak amusement of the younger years, no matter the house. Over the years, the joke wore off.

Being older, Harry didn't expect them, and he didn't really get much post at all, meaning he could eat his breakfast leisurely in the knowledge he was, on the whole, safe from owls. Ron got a lot of owls from his mum and dad, and Hermione got the _Daily Prophet_ every breakfast, but Harry only got the sporadic emails from Sirius.

The owl unloaded a very large, rectangular parcel onto Harry's plate, gave a celebratory hoot, and then flew back through the windows up into the owlery looking very pleased with himself.

Harry frowned at the parcel.

"What's that?" Asked Hermione curiously. "It's awfully large. Surely Snuffles wouldn't send you a present like that?"

"E igly u-ikey e cn js alk inu a hop," Ron said, his mouth full of hash brown.

Hermione looked revolted.

"He's right," Harry said, looking at the parcel thoughtfully.

"What did he _say_?" Asked Hermione irritably.

Ron swallowed with great difficulty and said, "I said it's highly unlikely he can just walk into a shop."

"You're right," Agreed Hermione, looking at the parcel thoughtfully.

"Maybe it's a fan gift," Ron suggested.

"They go straight to his room," Hermione said, exasperated. "Otherwise he'd be inundated with letters. Do you not listen to McGonagall?"

The letters did indeed go to Harry's room, joining a massive pile of fan mail shoved under his bed unread.

"Not when she's talking about Harry," Ron said defensively. "I just kind of zone out. Well, maybe it's a bomb!"

Hermione gave him a withering look. "How would a Hogwarts student smuggle in a bomb?"

"You don't know it's a student," Ron argued. "All sorts of Death Eater nutters have got in here in the past."

"You're right," Harry said.

"He's right," Hermione said grudgingly.

"I don't think it's a bomb," Harry said. "It would have gone off by now."

"And blown us all to pieces," Ron added.

Harry nodded. "But it could contain a curse."

"He's right," Hermione and Ron simultaneously agreed.

"You three are so annoying," Ginny piped in. "We get it, you're right, stop repeating it. Just open the damn thing and you'll find out."

Harry grudgingly and gingerly unwrapped the parcel.

Some shampoo and a curled up piece of parchment fell out.

"It's anti frizz shampoo," Harry stated rather unnecessarily. The bottle did indeed have the words _ANTI FRIZZ_ written across it in massive green letters. It described itself as _THE ULTIMATE SOLUTION FOR ALL THE WITCHES AND WIZARDS AROUND THE WORLD WITH FRIZZY HAIR. OUR UNIQUE BLEND, INCLUDING NEEM AND GOOSEGRASS OILS AND SEASONED WITH THE DISTINCT SMELLS OF GINGER AND AFRICAN SEA SALT, IS GUARANTEED TO SMOOTHEN DOWN THOSE TROUBLESOME LOCKS AND ALLOW YOUR TRUE HAIR TO SHINE THROUGH – AND ALL FOR THE GREAT PRICE OF -!"_

The sender had removed the price from the shampoo.

The parchment simply read:

"Potter –

I hate your hair."

"Maybe it's full of Bubotuber Pus!" Ron said excitedly, as if the idea of Harry developing massive, painful boils could not bring him any greater pleasure.

"Maybe," Hermione said thoughtfully, "It's just shampoo."

When Harry came downstairs the next morning and bit warily into his toast, half expecting another half useful, half insulting package, the Gryffindor table around him stared openly.

"Hermione, you were right!" Exclaimed Ron.

"It smells great," Hermione said appreciatively.

"That," Said Ginny in a deadpan voice, "Is gorgeous. I can feel my crush coming back."

Harry turned to face her. "When did it go?"

Ginny stared at him. "Harry. I've been dating Dean for six months."

Dean smiled at him, his mouth full of scrambled eggs and toast.

"Harry never listens," Hermione narrated to nobody in particular, biting into a croissant. "Except to insulting strangers who send unexpected, half-hate mail."

Harry scowled at her.

Just then, another school owl swooped down and unloaded a package onto Harry's toast.

"What do you think that is?" Ron asked the room at large.

"Who do you think is sending them?" Hermione asked thoughtfully, to the room at large.

The parcel was long and cylindrical, a bit like the shampoo bottle. Once again, it was wrapped in brown paper.

This annoyed Harry. Surely they could have got better wrapping paper? The shampoo they had sent looked – and felt – quite expensive, so it wouldn't be too much of a pain to wrap it in something else. Unless, perhaps, the wrapping paper would say something about the sender were they to use it. Harry voiced the idea out loud to Hermione and Ron.

"You're delusional, and quite possibly mad," Hermione said firmly, "But your original question is sound. Why use brown paper?"

"I feel like I'm on a programme of _Witch hunt_ ," Ron said. Looking at the blank faces of Harry and Hermione, he sighed. "I hate having muggle-raised people for friends. You never get my references, and then you have your little jokes between yourselves."

"Oh, I am _sorry_ , Ronald," Hermione said indignantly. "You know, I'm sure it would be nice not to be a mudblood - but of course our little jokes make it entirely worth it –"

"You two bicker like an old married couple," Ginny interrupted.

Hermione looked at Ron and turned green.

Ron looked at Hermione and turned green.

"I," Hermione begun firmly, "Would _never_ -"

"It's aftershave," Harry said softly.

Ron and Hermione peered over.

"Blimey," Ron said, "That's expensive aftershave."

"He's right," Said Ginny, leaning close to them and looking at the label.

"So he _could_ afford wrapping paper!" Harry said indignantly.

"Why did you assume it's a he?" Ginny said curiously.

Harry chose not to hear this comment.

"There's the same sort of note," Ron said. "It says that they hate how you smell of muggle."

"What, wizards have a different type of deodorant?" Harry asked defensively.

"Harry," Hermione said softly, "I don't think this person hates you."

"You're not wearing the aftershave," Hermione observed.

"Well," Harry said with dignity, "I don't have to do anything a stranger tells me to."

"He slept with it sprayed on his pillow," Ron said.

Harry glared at him. Ron stared meekly down at his cereal.

Ginny and Hermione burst out into giggles.

Harry glared at them too, and moodily spread jam onto his toast.

"What's the matter with you, then?" Ron asked, loading his place with hash browns. "And why are you only having jam on your toast?"

"There's going to be another owl today, isn't there?" Harry replied. "Might as well not put energy into having a nice breakfast."

"He's right," Hermione and Ron said in unison.

But no parcel came.

"You're upset," Hermione stated on their way to Herbology.

"Yeah, I'm upset that I missed out on a nice breakfast," Harry said moodily, glaring at a gaggle of second-years walking past talking too loudly. "I could have had pancakes and golden syrup."

"You were too pessimistic," Hermione said.

"You were too optimistic," Ron said. "You were expecting an endless stream of presents. I mean I know you usually get streams of fan presents, but you can't expect it from everyone. Maybe the stranger got bored."

Harry vented his anger by batting away a plant itching close to his shoulder with a slightly excessive amount of force.

"I mean, who knows who they are. Maybe they are waiting for something in return."

"There'd be a return address, Ron," Hermione said impatiently.

"Maybe it's a code!" Ron said excitedly. "Did you throw the wrapping away?"

"No, Ron, I actually keep it under my pillow as a momento," Harry said sarcastically.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Ron said gravely.

AN: This is kind of stupid and half finished because I just wanted to get it off of my computer. There is loads more left half written so this will be updated. If you enjoyed the start of this (however silly it is) or have any suggestions please review!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: So, I'm back after a really long hiatus, and I've decided to update my least ever viewed fic first. Congratulations, Roodwook. You're a complete mess.

HP HP HP HP HP HP

Hermione burst into the common room later that week with incredible urgency. Since she often did this – whether it was a small matter of homework or something to do with Voldemort, Hermione seemed to think they both required the utmost urgency – Ron and Harry continued playing wizard chess without batting an eyelid, as did most of the older pupils. A few first years, however, reacted, from flinching to small squeals to falling off their chair and sprawling on the floor. Hermione paid them no heed and made a beeline to where Ron and Harry were sitting.

"Hermione, I don't want to hear about homework, this is the closest I've ever got to winning," Harry muttered, flicking his wand so that his knight galloped into a different space and his horse reared threateningly. One of Ron's pawns, who was right in the firing line, flinched and looked up at Ron in what he clearly imagined to be a beseeching manner.

"This isn't about homework," Hermione said indignantly. "I've figured out who your secret writer is!"

Ron, who had been edging his pawn forward, dropped his wand and the pawn fell flat on it's face. "You what?"

"Well, not exactly," Hermione amended hurriedly, "But I've drawn some logical conclusions."

"From two presents you think you've figured out who Harry's secret admirer is?"

Ginny clambered over them to listen intently, followed by a slightly disgruntled Dean. "You have?"

"Not _exactly_ , Ron, I just said that," said Hermione impatiently. "But I've made logical conclusions."

"Let's hear them, then," Ginny said.

"Well, first of all, I believe it's a male."

Ron turned a delicate shade of green. "You think it's a bloke? Why?"

"Think!" Hermione said (at this, Ginny snorted). "Male shampoo and male aftershave – _unwrapped_. Sure, they sent it to Harry wrapped, but after they'd bought it. If you were a woman, and you walked into a store to buy male stuff specifically to send to a male, you'd have them wrap it, wouldn't you? It would be a bit inconspicuous to walk around with unwrapped, not to mention a bit embarrassing if someone called you out on it."

"She's right," Ginny and Harry chorused. Ron, still looking slightly gobsmacked, did not join in.

"Well, I hope that's the bad news," he said hollowly. "Harry's not even gay."

"Well," Hermione pressed on, "I think it's also a Slytherin."

"Really?" Ginny asked, sounding quite merry about this announcement. "That's interesting."

"Is it?" Ron asked weakly.

"First of all," Hermione said, sounding quite business like. "He says 'Potter'. Not many people apart from Slytherins say Potter – everyone knows his first name, so Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and obviously Gryffindors say Harry. Slytherin, as a whole, use Potter because they dislike him."

"I thought you said he probably didn't dislike me?" Harry asked, mystified.

"I meant the _house_ dislikes you, not the sender," Hermione said impatiently, as if she was fed up explaining to lesser minds how her logic worked. "But that's not all. The first envelope was written in green ink. Green is associated with Slytherin, and so other houses tend to avoid it where possible. If you got some green ink out right now, Gryffindor would be wondering what the hell you were doing. Really, house stereotypes are helpful to identify people apart."

"So it's a male Slytherin?" Ron asked, sounding faint.

"I'm afraid so," Hermione said, but her tone sounded like this comment was just a necessity rather than her actually meaning anything.

"Why has he stopped sending me gifts?" Harry asked.

Hermione shrugged. "Perhaps he doesn't have a ton of gifts stockpiled?"

"Maybe," Ginny said slowly, "He's trying to court you."

Hermione and Harry looked at her quizzically. Hermione looked miffed Ginny had a theory that she didn't, and Harry was sure he just had the facial expression of a flobberworm from his brain working too hard. It was a face he recognised since he had habitually pulled the exact same muscles during history of magic lessons.

"Of course, you two wouldn't know," She continued, "Being muggle-born or muggle-raised, but wizard courtship often starts with sending a gift or so a week. In traditional terms, anyway. And if you're right, Hermione, and it is a Slytherin, a lot of them are pureblood and therefore uphold old traditions. He'll probably reveal himself at some point, but it's considered pretty usual in those circles to send gifts for a few weeks without revealing your identity."

"That seems inefficient," Hermione remarked.

"Yeah, well, wizards and witches aren't exactly the most efficient people in a lot of ways, are they?" Dean asked reasonably. Harry had forgotten he was there. "Does that mean I should have brought you gifts every week then?"

Ginny laughed and brought her lips to his. Harry and Ron both looked away as one. At least they didn't make the disgusting sound that Ron had during his brief tryst with Lavender, so that was a mercy.

"But Harry's not even gay!" Ron exclaimed.

It looked as if he was expecting a chorus of 'he's right'; getting no reply, he stared appealingly at Harry. "You're not, right?"

Harry shrugged. "Would it matter if I was?"

Ron struggled with his words, and then sagged his shoulders. "I suppose not," he said grudgingly. "It's just a bit gross, you know?"

"He's right," said Dean, having de-attached himself from Ginny's lips. "But only because we're straight guys. I'm not homophobic or anything."

"Perhaps," Hermione said thoughtfully, "That's why he's not telling you. He's scared of homophobia from you or from his house. Slytherin isn't exactly renowned for gay marriage, is it? They all rely on reproducing and making heirs to their families. I think we need to ask a Slytherin. Find out if this is all some joke."

"Hermione," Ron said, "I don't think that any Slytherins we know would be particularly open to that idea."

"No," Hermione conceded. "But we're not Gryffindors for nothing."

Harry looked at her curiously. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"The next time we're in position, we grab the bull by the horns and go," Hermione concluded cheerfully. "Now. Does anyone want to finish their Potions homework with me?"

"Me and Dean have to go," Ginny said quickly, pulling Dean by his wrist towards the portrait hole. "You know. Alone time."

With a sense of resignation, Harry and Ron pulled out their Potions essays, both unfinished. Harry had given up about halfway through and Ron had done a few illegible scrawls before giving up and drawing a doodle of Draco with a triangular, particularly pointy head. Harry snorted, but Hermione gave them a stern look before pulling out her wand and vanishing the doodle from his page.

"Now," she began brightly, "How many lines have you done on the wand movements?"

Harry had written "a wave" and Ron had simply drawn a squiggle.

Harry felt kind of bad at Hermione's disappointed face when she heard this news.

HP HP HP HP HP

Okay so this is short, but I have a clear idea of the next chapter and it should have a whole lot more crack in it. It got me back in the swing of writing, too, so I should be updating more now it's summer. Hope anyone that reads this enjoyed!


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